by James Aspen
4 seconds.
Paul gripped the controls lightly, keeping his grip loose.
3 seconds.
He kept his sight on the marker as he gripped the throttle.
2 seconds.
He ignored the bead of sweat dripping down his nose.
1 second.
He held his breath as the marker streaked past the viewport.
Now.
Paul set the throttle to full and shifted towards the next marker. His stomach lurched as the inertia pushed him into his seat until the dampeners equalized. The planet went dark above him, and he saw Deimos rising over the dark horizon, reflecting the faint light of the sun. He wished he had time to watch it.
The ship passed through the second and third markers easily, but by the time they got to the fourth, the speed increase made Paul have trouble keeping the ship in the pathway. By the fifth, he had veered off to the side of the target square.
By the sixth marker he was getting off course, with the ship barely staying in the target area.
Paul missed the 7th marker entirely, passing closer to the planet.
Course correct!
Paul eased up on the throttle and adjusted the course and passed through the 8th marker.
The loud ding of the kitchen timer Zyp loved made Paul cringe as he passed through the 9th marker.
4 seconds.
“Dammit Zyp, erase that noise from your memory!”
3 seconds.
The ship passed through the 10th marker.
2 seconds.
The ship barely made it through the 11th marker and Paul scrambled to line up the last, his movements frantic.
1 second.
Paul jerked as the transport passed right through the flowing line of the marker, and then he pulled the throttle to the off position just as the oven timer chimed brightly.
Cut thrust!
Deimos passed close above the Specter as it broke orbit, moving much faster than before.
“I missed one. Are we still on course?”
You missed two. And yes, we’re close enough. I calculated a path that would get us there as long as you made half of the markers.
“You couldn’t tell me that?!” He was shouting now, waving his hands in exasperation.
I could’ve, but I wanted to see how you’d do. It was a standard training exercise. We could have just used the autopilot. I’m surprised you didn’t notice.
“Gah, didn’t you learn enough about me already?!”
The longer we’re bonded, the more I know about you and the more accurate my assessment. And the more I can help you.
“Well, what did you figure out about me now?”
The bright sound of the kitchen timer rang in his head again.
Congratulations. Between your performance with starfighters and bombers, and the slingshot maneuver, you’re now a Level Two pilot!
Paul rubbed his hands roughly across his face, willing the tension away. It didn’t work.
“I thought I told you to delete the over timer noise! It makes me feel like I’m a batch of cookies!” Paul waved his hand in exasperation. “Well, go ahead. Tell me what being a Level Two whatever means so we can get back to planning this rescue!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“TIME TO MOVE.” Edolit motioned her team to form up behind her. The break had done her some good, but she was still shaky on her feet as she stepped into the corridor.
Ka’ilk. Re-engage stim protocol.
The warm flood of hormone spread through her chest and fatigue faded from her body.
Stims engaged. I’ve analyzed the files you copied from the terminal. You need to see something.
We need to move, Nian. Can it wait?
I do not believe so.
Edolit motioned for Omaro and Ja’el to take up guard positions beside the recessed entry to a side hatch while she crouched down.
Okay, what do you have?
Job postings for a series of worlds for an organization called ‘The Syndicate.’ I found them highly irregular since none of the worlds are part of the Federation and no organization by that name exists in official records.
Show me.
Her HUD filled with a scrolling list of worlds, most of which she had never heard of. Hundreds of worlds in dozens of border systems. Beside them were numbers of duty postings. She picked a world at random - Skabe - and the list stopped scrolling. A drop-down menu of jobs appeared with start dates only a few standard weeks away. With a glance, she saw positions covering an array of resource collection jobs and manufacturing. Mining. Ore Processing. Chemical Extraction. Shipyard construction. Fleet officers. Administrative staff.
Is it like this for all worlds?
Yes, with some minor variation. Some appear to be mining and construction operations, others appear to be bio-resource extraction. Some worlds already have production output targets that include starfighters and border patrol light cruisers. Other worlds appear to be harvesting operations only.
Harvesting?
I infer it to be the Syndicate’s designation for slaves.
Any other information about their plans?
There are other files referenced, but they did not appear to have been accessible by the terminal.
Captain Numoh would have access. Do we have a route to his personal office?
The list disappeared from view and her map updated with an alternative route outlined. The path took them in the bridge's direction at the center of the ship, with the Captain’s quarters separated from the rest of the crew’s.
Projected resistance?
Troop registry indicates a squad stationed on the bridge with multiple patrol routes surrounding it. It’s unlikely that conflict can be avoided.
She pulsed the grim gray tone of concern. There was something bigger than the takeover of a single planet going on, and she needed to find out more. Her gut told her that the Gryx and the Syndicate they served were about to make their move. Between the list and the evidence she had already gathered, there was powerful evidence against the Gryx, but not enough to compel the Federation into action. They needed an obvious violation to turn the might of the Federation military against them. Even if the Resistance remained the only ones organizing against Gryx overreach and this Syndicate, there would be information in Numoh’s quarters they could use.
Any status on extraction?
Unknown.
The wail of Omaro’s blaster made Edolit jump, and she swung around. The Scyllarian was in a relaxed position, the barrel of his blaster still smoking with ozone.
“Just a crewman. Only a matter of time before the cavalry shows up, though,” Omaro said. He jerked his weapon slightly and fired again. A muffled gurgle from down the corridor let Edolit know he’d downed another Gryx.
“Noted. We’re changing plans. We’ve got to get to the captain’s quarters for intel, Priority One. Along the way we’ll destroy anything that looks important.”
With a tap of her Ambra screen, she sent the route to the members of the team. With a nod of his armored head, Omaro led them away.
***
They moved quickly, silent and alert. Ja’el swayed slightly, still feeling the effects of the suppressors, but she kept up with their pace. The wounded Grr’alis had a hard time keeping her weapon at the ready, but she hadn’t been effective for anything more than cover fire since her rescue, anyway. With no time for concern, Edolit noted it and kept them moving. There was nothing she could do for her at the moment.
At one intersection, two startled Varanul turned the corner only to be shot by two quick reflexive shots from the dual blasters Omaro wielded. They were dead before they hit the floor and had no time to send out an alert. The close call made Edolit slow their pace and curse the bright, open design of the Xyanthin-class cruisers. The Gryx had always preferred bright spaces and smooth design, and the result was a ship design that left few shadowy nooks to hide in. If they got caught in the middle of a straightaway, the only cover they would have
would be the recessed entrances of the occasional hatchway.
Fortunately, the ship was large, the few patrols they encountered were small, and the open design made it hard to set up defensive choke points. The troop complement on the vessel was stretched thin, trying to search for them on all decks. Edolit knew a majority of their force would focus on the hanger bay to block their escape, especially after she had discovered all escape pods were locked down.
The next patrol they encountered got off a couple of shots before being gunned down by concentrated fire from Edolit and Omaro. Edolit motioned for Omaro to drag the Varanul’s bodies into the Captain’s Quarters behind them. She pivoted to the side so he wouldn’t see the wound she’d received, quickly covering it with a gelpak she’d taken from the medbay. He noticed her bright red pulse of pain when he finished. His maxillipeds twitched, but he locked the hatch without comment.
The captain’s quarters were more cluttered than she expected. The Gryx prided themselves on their utilitarian minimalism and sense of order, but Numoh’s walls were covered in an amalgam of artifacts from dozens of different cultures. Smaller pieces cluttered his desk as well. Some were trinkets found at any tourist’s hovel but others were complicated works of art, but most were weapons. A rack of staffs, antique bolt throwers, and blades from ten different worlds were mounted behind his desk. Edolit growled, her skin pulsing the deep maroon of rage as she spotted her Honor Blade among them.
“Seal the door and keep your sensory enhance mode on. Let me know if you hear a patrol coming,” she growled. The sight of her blade among the Captain’s trophies ignited a deep, searing flame within her. “Ja’el…”
Edolit started when she saw Ja’el slumped down beside the desk, her back against the bulkhead. The Grr’alis stared at the charred bodies of the Varanul blankly, her pink skin faded and dripping with gray sweat, her breath heaving. She looked as if she would keel over at any moment. Omaro glanced down at Ja’el and then met Edolit’s eyes as he took up a position against the door once it sealed.
“Ja’el, rest up, but be ready to move,” Edolit said, moving towards the desk. Ja’el nodded weakly.
Nian, scan for terminals and datapads.
Located.
A large box outline inside the desk appeared on her HUD, along with two smaller devices in other drawers. Glancing at her blade, Edolit set her blasters on the desk and ripped open the compartments. Inside one was a larger quantum server hub with a mobile terminal. She left it in place and pulled the smaller datapads out of the center drawer first. One wasn’t password protected. A cursory glance showed it was full of similar data to what she had already found in the terminals. The next pad was password protected.
Here we go.
Gingerly, she placed the pad on the desk and laid her left arm beside it. With a quick flick of against the side of her Ambra, she opened its port panel, extended the data cable, and attached it to the datapad.
Run the decrypt program.
Scanning. Password is 8 characters, estimated decrypt time 3.75 minutes.
“Omaro, I need 5 minutes.”
“You got it Commander, so far it’s quiet out there.”
While the decrypt ran, Edolit pulled out the mobile terminal and flicked on the screen. It showed an array of news and corporate headline feeds streaming from the Federation core worlds, but also had a local data feed open, showing system alerts for the ship. A quick glance at the feed to make her curse.
“Brace yourselves. Looks like we tripped an alarm when we came in here. They’ve got two squads on their way. The ship is at max speed, course set for Earth, we’re running out of time.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
PAUL WAS OVERWHELMED with the technology tree hovering in front of him, but he was closer to understanding how the Ambra helped him. The skill levels unlocked a series of related upgrades the device could perform. While downloading knowledge directly into his brain was possible for most anything, augmenting an existing skill worked different. Knowing the controls for the ship differed from having experience using them. Knowing something intellectually was different from experiencing it. The more Paul experience he gained, and the more he used his skills, the more the Ambra could augment him.
It took some explaining, but he thought he got it now. Zyp used the example of the difference between knowing the forms of a fighting style and being able to use them in a fight. One required thought and deliberate brain power, the other was instinctual and relied on muscle memory. The Ambra could download the knowledge of how to fight, but until he had used the knowledge, it couldn’t augment his speed and agility. Without some practice, it couldn’t make him fight the way Edolit had against the Varanul. With the case of his pilot’s ability, the Ambra now had a good baseline of his abilities in that respect and could now increase his reaction time, focus, and accuracy.
Now he faced the decision of what upgrade would most help the rescue. Like knowledge downloads, upgrades were spaced between levels to help prevent brain melt down and to allow for better integration. He could choose to play to his strength or make up for his weaknesses, or save them up for a later when he wasn’t in the heat of battle and unable to spare the recovery time necessary for them.
He had time before final maneuvers, and he intended to use it to better their chances.
The tech tree had been expansive, with everything he could imagine that would affect each of his baseline skills and even more that he couldn’t imagine. The entire concept made him wish he had played more role-playing games as a kid to prepare him. He resisted the urge to pour his upgrades into strength or athletics. He was a pilot. As fun as it sounded to gain super strength, it wouldn’t help him.
In the end, he augmented Gunnery. He’d be in tight quarters during the rescue attempt, with little room to maneuver. Any edge to his accuracy would be worth it. Paul wondered if the augmentation would have made a difference against the bombers. The thought weighed on him until Zyp projected the image of the cruiser in front of him, the Ambra’s way of distracting him from his own thoughts.
Paul cringed as he looked at the image of the Xyanthin-class cruiser hovering in the air. He’d originally asked to have a scale image of his transport projected beside the image for reference, but it had instantly sent him into a panic attack and he had Zyp remove it. The 500 meter long cruiser’s heavy cannons, point defense lasers, and missile turrets made it a virtual fortress when compared to the tiny transport he was flying. His instinct told him to turn tail and run, to burn hard for Earth and hope he found a hole to hide in before the invasion.
But then I would let Edolit and her team down. They’re counting on me. I have to make this work. The thoughts weighed on him, he’d been staring at the display for fifteen minutes as the ship sped ever closer to Jupiter and its many moons, hurling towards what Paul was coming to realize was most likely a certain death.
We may be in range to get a more accurate reading on the ship’s position now. Would that help you grow a pair?
Paul groaned. The longer he had been bonded with Zyp, the more the intelligent device had picked up on the myriad of colloquial phrases and slang peppered throughout Paul’s memory. Some of it was making him a little more comfortable with the voice in his head, made it sound a little more familiar. The rest was a catch-all of some of the most annoying phrases that had infected Paul’s brain from the minefield of pop culture.
“Please delete that phrase from your memory banks and mine. It’s awful,” Paul muttered. He didn’t think Zyp would listen to him, but he thought he’d give it a shot.
Okay.
“Wait, really?”
Since you asked nicely, sure. I don’t understand it, anyway. What are you growing a pair of?
The sound of his own laughter surprised Paul. When was the last time he had done that? The past couple of days certainly had been tense. Laughter was a welcome relief from his exhaustion.
“Zyp, will you please delete that oven timer noise, now?”
Ding.
“Okay, now you’re just mocking me with it.”
Ding. Ding.
Paul gave up and looked at the cruiser again, going over what he knew, shaking his head and smiling. The moment of levity had helped, and he could look at the image without complete terror overtaking him. There was one hanger bay, likely mostly empty now that he had destroyed a squadron of bombers and lured the starfighters out to search for him. With Edolit loose, it would be heavily guarded, since they would assume she would try to commandeer whatever ship was left in the hanger to make her escape.
“Zyp, how effective is this ship against entrenched ground troops?”
The shields and hull can withstand most small weapons’ fire. If they have a mobile heavy cannons setup, they’d get through the shields eventually, though.
“Do you have a diagram of what the hanger looks like?”
Sure. It’s approximate, but should give you an idea.
The diagram zoomed in and stripped away the outer hull. The hanger was crescent shaped, with a large holding bay in the center half circle and two angular launch sections wide enough for three of the bombers to leave the hanger in tandem on either side of the ship.
The hanger had two entrances, designed for quick deployment of the fighters on two fronts. Each entrance was nestled opposite each other in the hull in an indented grove in the design. The armored bow of the cruiser shielded the hangers from approach and allowed the fighters a microsecond to build up speed before they left the safety of the cruiser’s shields. They angled hangers gave the cruiser a shark-like appearance, the hanger grooves like the gills behind its heavily armored, angular “head.”
Unfortunately for Paul, it also limited the vector of approach. He’d have to approach from the rear half of the ship. The designers of the ship considered that, and to protect the hangers from approach by boarding parties, they had mounted multiple point defense cannons on either side to cover the approach vectors.
“So, I know I’ll have to approach in cloak mode to avoid those defense cannons.” Paul pointed to each of them, more for himself than Zyp. It helped him to talk things through sometimes, even to himself.
